


Chantress

by LizzieHopscotch



Category: The Mummy (1999), The Mummy Series
Genre: AND YOU KNOW WHAT, Eventual Romance, F/M, I don't even care, Infrequent Updates, Misogyny, Singing, Threat of Rape, Violence, WIP, Yes its another Rick's Sister story, at some point, bad egyptology, like seriously dont hold your breath i am BAD at this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2018-10-10 02:45:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10427409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzieHopscotch/pseuds/LizzieHopscotch
Summary: Emily is a trained Nurse who has fallen under hard times with the disappearance of her brother. Her brother's friend, Beni, has promised to take care of her but Emily knows Beni is using her. It's only when a chance meeting with Johnathon Carnahan that her luck begins to change. Except she can't figure out if things are looking up or are slowly getting worse.





	1. Emily

**Author's Note:**

> OMG  
> So.  
> Hi!  
> New story, new fandom this is very very exciting. I've wanted to write a Mummy fic since, well, forever? So I'm finally doing it! Hooray! And if it's another "Rick's sister" story well I enjoy reading them so why not write them. I haven't fully decided on a rating yet so it may change.
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS  
> There are no mentions of rape/non con but there is childbirth (not really described but there) and a character having to give up said child. There's no underage either, but it is mentioned that some of the characters look very young to be working in a brothel.
> 
> Yes. Brothel.
> 
> END OF WARNINGS

The heat was sweltering, her blonde hair sticking to the back of her neck. She shoved her way through the crowded marketplace, resolutely ignoring the shouts and cries by vendors and customers alike.

No, she would not like some eggplants.

Or rice.

Or that piece of fabric.

And she really doesn’t care how nice that carpet is.

Eventually she managed to escape the throng, taking a deep breath before heading down one of the darker side streets. At least here, with the buildings providing shade, the heat was finally bearable.

This was not her choice, she thought darkly, glaring at the shadow of a man as he passed her. This was not where she wanted to be. The decision was taken from her though, when her brother vanished from the Libyan Front with the whole of his company on some foolish errand. Only one man survived, and he had returned to the army hospital where Emily had been working to inform them of her brother’s fate.

Swallowed by the desert, he said.

Fighting to his last breath, he said.

Wanted me to take care of you, he said.

 _Rick’s last words_ , he said.

And she had believed him. With grief as a permanent companion she followed Beni out of Libya and across to Egypt, where they eked out a living in Cairo. Or she did anyway. Beni would spend his time in bars, drinking until he was either kicked out for fighting or because he’d run out of coin. Which was her fault of course.

Sometimes he’d vanish for weeks on end.

She used those times to ferret away anything of value she had. She had already lost the picture of her brother, Beni sold the frame and didn’t bother to remove it. Emily refused to lose the last gift he’d given her as well.

It was just before he’d vanished, and she had had a rare day away from the stinking death of the field hospital. They had hitched a ride into a nearby town and suddenly they were just Rick and Emily again, not soldier and nurse with the responsibilities and expectations that came with those titles. She wasn’t sure where he’d found it (and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know either) but on the road back to the barracks he had fixed a leather strap with a small silver charm around her wrist. She never took it off.

Beni would take it in a heartbeat if she did. He may steal her belongings, her money, have placed her in a barely tenable situation, but he had never raised a hand to her. A mixed blessing to be sure.

Finally, she reached her destination.

Madam Rosita had sent a runner to their small apartment earlier in the day, Henrietta had gone into labour, and would Emily please come and help?

Emily had moved as quickly as she could, sending the runner back with instructions to get hot water and clean cloths, and to walk the patient through the pain. There may not have been many expecting mothers on the battlefield, but there were plenty in a city. She had pushed her way through the streets but had been unable to avoid the markets which had slowed her progress considerably. Especially when she’d had to stop and replenish some of her medicines and herbs.

Herbs were always cheaper than whatever it was the chemist put in a bottle. Castor oil for muscle pain, and poppy flowers for…well. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

She entered the familiar building, greeting worried faces with a reassuring smile as a cry of pain echoed from the upper levels.

“Hope you can shut her up,” said Mary, one of the older women there. “She’s been frightening off the regulars,”

“A baby will come when it’s ready, and not before,” Emily responded, repeating one the nuns’ favourite sayings. No doubt the baby would end up in an orphanage similar to where she was raised. There was no place for a baby in a brothel, and Henrietta had no other profession or a gentleman willing to call her his own. And even if she knew the name of her baby’s father, the girl was under no illusions that such a man would claim the child as his.

Taking the stairs two at a time Emily was greeted with a puff of foul smelling smoke from one of the side rooms.

“You’re here early today, Emily,” Aziza said.

“I’m here to help Henrietta,” Emily explained. “I’ll be here until closing tonight I’m sure.”

“Closing?” Aziza laughed. “You know better than that, Emily. A house like this never closes.”

“No,” Emily said. “I suppose not,”

Another cry and Emily excused herself, hurriedly making her way to the room at the end.

Henrietta was doing as she had been told, walking circuits round the room with two other girls forming bookends at her side. One of them looked far too young.

Rosita sat in the corner, casually sipping from a flask, watching all with hooded eyes.

Some might hate Rosita for her chosen profession, selling flesh for coin, especially by the girl’s themselves. But Rosita was respected by all those in the house as a fair Madam, who took better care of her girls than many others in the city. If one had to be a whore, Emily thought, there were worse brothels to work in.  

“Hello, Henrietta, how are you doing?”

“Hi Doc Em,” she panted, using the affectionate nickname some of the girl’s used for her. “I’m ready for this to be over,”

“Understandable. Lie on the bed for me, I just want to see how we’re doing.”

She winced as she moved, but Henrietta made it to the bed with the help of the other girls.

A look under Henrietta’s skirt and a feel of the baby, Emily placing sure hands on her stomach.

“Okay, good news. It feels like the head’s dropped, so it won’t be long now. Up on the bricks, up you go,”

“Ma always said women give birth laying down though,”

“Not if they want it quick they don’t,” Rosita snorted from her corner.

“Rosita is right…”

“Panya,”

“Panya. Just be ready to catch,”

“Catch!”

Despite the panic in her voice Panya gamely held out her hands under Emily’s probing fingers.

The baby came quickly after that, and Emily could only watch as Panya swaddled the child and handed her to Aziza who had appeared at the door.

“Boy or girl?” Henrietta breathed. Emily almost didn’t catch the question, busy making sure the placenta was fully detached and that the tearing would heal well. “Boy or girl?” came again.

“Boy,” Emily told her.

“I want to raise him,” Henrietta said. “I don’t care what I have to do, I don’t want to give him up.”

“And what will you give him, Henrietta? You have no home, no savings, no job. I won’t hire you with a child attached to your hip, and none of the other houses in town will either. So what will you do?” Rosita stood, full skirts sweeping the floor as she stood by the bed. “The nun’s will raise him well. He’ll have a roof over his head, food in his belly, an education, and the love of the lord.”

“But _I_ love him,” Henrietta wailed, “He’s _my child_ ,”

“Oh my darling,” Rosita sat on the bed and stroked her face, offering the comforting touches Emily couldn’t. She retreated to the hallway as soon as possible, giving her final instructions for treatment in a hushed tone, Rosita nodding her understanding, walking to the small washroom to check on the baby. He’d had a pair of healthy lungs when he’d come into the world, and she’d counted a full ten fingers and toes.

Aziza washed him silently and towelled him dry as Emily watched.

“What do you think she’ll do?” Emily asked quietly, unwilling to disturb the small peace found in this room.

“What Madam Rosita tells her is best,” Aziza shrugged. “Henrietta loves him, and she will want the best for him. She cannot give him that here.”

Emily nodded. It was always the answer, but still. It never got easier.

“Excuse me, Emily. I need to prepare to take him to the orphanage,”

“Of course,” Emily stepped out of the way, watching her walk down the small hallway. She was met by Panya, and they spoke quickly but too far away for Emily to hear properly. Aziza nodded and the two prepared to leave the house. Emily sighed and slipped into an empty room. It was time for her to change.

She was pulling up her tights before she remembered how she met Aziza for the first time, crying after she’d given up her new born baby.

It was a productive night.

She stood in the small lounge area and sang and swayed her hips. The others, her friends, traced gauzy scarfs across men’s faces and laughed sultrily when a hand brushed their rears. Sweet smelling smoke, nothing like the horrid things Aziza used, filled the air, making it hard to make the notes as clear as they should be.

The men didn’t care though, they had food and drink and entertaining company. It was a good night for them.

One of their regular’s, (Jack? Josh? John?) tipped an imaginary hat in her direction, before allowing himself to be pulled from the room. He was one of the nice ones, known for being a but chatty, but gentle and considerate.

Rosita grabbed her before she could finally leave.

“You could stay here you know,” Rosita told her. Went unsaid was what she’d have to do. When Beni had first introduced Emily to Rosita she was sure he meant to be her pimp, loan her to Rosita’s house for a cut of the profits. Rosita hadn’t been interested in Emily though. It was only when she’d been singing to cheer up some of the others that Rosita had made her an offer. Be a lounge singer, be our nurse, and I’ll pay you enough that maybe one day you’ll be free of him.

Emily had taken the deal without looking back.

But only prostitutes could live in the house, and she couldn’t quite bring herself to cross that line just yet.

Emily shook her head and thanked Rosita, pocketing her night’s pay in a hidden pocket. It was dangerous to wander the streets of Cairo, especially at this time.

She hurried to the apartment, stopping when she reached the corner, next to a closed stall. There was a light on.

Beni was back.


	2. Meret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry! Dissertation hell has begun so updates may be a bit sporadic. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter!

There are many stories about the gods of Egypt.

There is the tale where Ptah comes forth from the croaking of frogs to create the Earth.

There is the time that Ra took the form of a giant snake in his grief, and met a sailor shipwrecked and far from home.

Then there are stories filled with bloodshed; Sekhmet’s rampage, Seth’s betrayal, and the slaying of Apep night after night.

But one thing is agreed, the gods love the best things that can be offered, both by the living and the dead. The sweetest fruits, the freshest fish, the juiciest meats. They cared for animals sacrificed in their name, appreciated the gold and jewels that adorned their statues. But the thing they loved the most, that they left their godly realm to inhabit those statues for, was the pure sound of song.

In Egypt, Imhotep may have been the High Priest of Seti, but he didn’t deal with the day to day running of the temples. Imhotep spent his time locked in the sanctuaries, decoding the spells and wisdom that covered the walls. Instead the lower priests, and their apprentices, took care of the temples proper and forwarded the edicts of the King to the people.

But these men couldn’t give all their time to the temple, and so the building was left empty for large periods of time while they worked on other pursuits.

This is where the life of Meret becomes relevant.

Meret was unimportant to the city of Thebes.

The daughter of a scribe Meret was introduced to her letters early, which helped her devour stories and songs at an alarming rate. In her eighth year her father became very sickly, and every day her mother walked through the markets and to the outer wall of the temple. She could go no further, not being a priest nor sanctified in the sacred lake on the temple grounds. She would lay her hands upon the warm sandstone and pray.

And pray.

And pray.

Meret would stand silently next to her, watching her mother fulfil this ritual over and over, leaving a loaf of bread, a fish, a small cask of beer. She never spoke, she never prayed, and her father grew sicker and sicker and sicker.

Meret stood there, watched silently, and waited for her mother to turn and leave her offerings. She waited until her mother had slipped silently through the crowds, before scooping them up and pocketing them.

She then ran to one of the lesser used entrances and darted inside. She dipped her hands in the water of the lake and hurried inside. She knew the priest on this day also worked as an architect and was always late for the afternoon prayers. She also knew the layout very well by now, and she ran through the columned hall and down a small corrider, and there she entered the inner most sanctuary of the god Horus.

His great eyes watched her as she moved about the room, severe and unforgiving at this rude trespasser. The first time she’d done this it had frightened her, but she would not be deterred from her purpose. In a little used corner of the sanctuary there was a statuette. There Horus stood, not as a falcon headed man but as a child. He held the severed snake aloft his side locked head, a mark of his mother’s healing. It was to Isis that Meret prayed to now, placing her family’s small offering at the feet of her son.

Prayer complete, and with no real reason, she began to sing.

It was a silly rhyme, something her mother sang to soothe her to sleep but in that quiet surrounded by carved stone supplicants it seemed right. A lullaby for a god caught in his child hood.

When asked later, the late priest would say that divine grace led him to the sanctuary at that time. He would tell of how he fell to his knees at the sight of life within the statue’s stone. The eyes burned with a divine warmth, and the giant beak sighed a single powerful breath. The dust from stone and sand moved as if in a gale, the singing child sitting in the eye of the storm.

Meret was unaware of the divinity roiling round her and consuming the essence of her offerings. A mile away, he father breathed easily for the first time in months. When the song was done and the air still, the priest laid a hand on her shoulder. Meret struggled, expecting a flogging or worse for trespassing on the sacred site.

He brought the child before the high priest, not Imhotep not yet, and told him of what he had witnessed.

The high priest, a man who began life as a scribe before abandoning his trade and dedicating his life to the studies of the divine. Memphite, Theban, Elephantine; he visited all the major centres of divine learning, even moving further into the Delta to visit Avaris to learn the ways of the foreign Hyksos gods. The writings, they all agreed. What was best was beloved by the gods, be it sustenance or art.

Or the lullaby of a child.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm...Glossary? Is that okay? Glossaries are fun right?
> 
> The Ogdoad - Memphite theology that talks about Ptah creating the world. It's a bit later than Seti I so Meret doesn't know anything about it. The only copy is on the Shabako Stone at the British Museum. And half of it is lost because it got used as a millstone. Oops.  
>   
> Shipwrecked Sailor - A story that is exactly what it says on the tin. A sailor gets shipwrecked on an island, eats a very specific list of vegetables and meets a giant snake with, I shit you not, golden skin and eyebrows of lapis lazuli. And all his kids but one got killed by a meteor.  
> Sekhmet - Ancient Egyptian goddess. Head of a lioness. Ra gets annoyed at humanity and releases her into the world to wreck his vengeance. Then he regrets it and helps man calm her down.  
> Seth - Osiris' brother who wanted to be king so he killed his brother and then Horus came along and booted him off the throne after a series of tests set by the other gods.  
> Apep - Snake demon in the Underworld. Every night the sun god Amun kills him in order for the sun to rise in the form of Khepri.  
> Meret - mr.t - just means "beloved".  
>   
> Priests and Temples - Priests were pretty much always part time because they didn't get paid. They had to get income from somewhere else. Temples oh god I could talk about those for a while! But basically only priests could go inside them and that was after bathing in the sacred lake. I've taken a few liberties with this fictional temple though. If you're interested though comment below and I can send you a few links!
> 
> In fact if you have any interest in any of this let me know! Ancient Egypt takes up a large portion of my soul so I can talk about it for a while.
> 
> Much hugs
> 
> Lizzie Hopscotch


	3. Chapter 3

She could always smell him before she saw him.

It boggled her really, how the man got any business as a guide at all. Surely anyone with any sense at all would take one look at him and find someone else. It wasn’t as though his appearance suggested any form of reputability.

He was in the small washroom when she entered their shared apartment. She opened the window immediately, desperate to release some of that stench of smoke and ill-gotten booze. What had he been doing in here to stink up the place so quickly?

Scratch that. She didn’t want to know.

The bathroom door banged against the wall behind her as Beni sauntered out. He thought of it as sauntering, thought it gave him presence like so many of his fellows in the army had. In truth it looked a little ridiculous on the snivelling man, not that Emily would ever tell him so. His small frame hid a surprising amount of strength.

“Emily,” he smiled and opened his arms. “No welcome home hug for me?”

“Welcome home, Beni,” she said evenly, keeping herself firmly out of grabbing reach.

“You’ve been keeping yourself busy, looking after all of Rosita’s little lambs,”

“They need the help. And Rosita adds it to my wages from my other work so it’s no trouble,”

“Well, then hand it over,”

“Hand what over?”

“Allll this extra money you’ve been getting,” Beni smirked. “Unless you’re lying to me,”

“I don’t get paid until the end of the week,” Emily said. Maybe if she stalled he would leave, and she could ferret away some of it.

“Now, now, your brother asked me to take care of you with his dying breath.” He walked to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. His fetid breath made her eyes water. “How can I do that if you lie to me? Hmm?”

“I’m not lying,”

“Alright, alright.” He released her and started to move around the room, running his hands along the drawers.

“I’ve been gone for two weeks,” he mused. “So where is the rest?”

Emily watched him closely. So far he hadn’t found her hiding spots, but there was always a first time. 

“I had to pay the rent, and then there was food and a few other things,”

“Things for the whores? You shouldn’t spend anything on them, Emily, I’ve told you before.”

“Don’t you have money left from the last job?” she snapped. “Or did you gamble it all away?”

He smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. 

“Don’t you worry about that. I’ve got another job coming up that’ll change both our fortunes. I just need the money for supplies.”

“If they’re hiring you can’t they pay for their own stuff?”

“It’s not for them, it’s for me, the cheap bastards,” he turned to her again, calmly knocking against the wooden dresser.

One.

Two.

Three.

“You won’t be singing at Rosita’s anymore,”

“ _What_?” Emily snapped. “You’re the one who put me there in the first place! If you had your way I’d be making a living on my back as well!”

“Then you should be glad to be getting out of the cathouse then! You’ll be singing in a little lounge I know, better pay and no more wasting time on whores,”

“But - “

He made it across the room in two quick strides, cornering her against the wall.

“I’m taking care of you now. And that means that sometimes, you have to take care of me,” his hand rested on her hip, and he leaned close to her face. “So, you have a choice. You can either sing at this new place, or stay at Rosita’s and show me exactly what you’ve learned from those girls,”

She couldn’t get away from him, not with her back to wall like this. The door was too far. He’d threatened and hinted what he wanted from her before but never like this. He’d slapped her and pushed her but placing his hands like _this_. It was wrong so wrong, everything about it made her skin crawl and – his hand was moving again.

“I’ll sing, I’ll go to this new place,” she stammered out. Get off me, get off, get off, _get off_!

She felt him smile against her skin before he finally moved away.

“Good.”

It was strange singing in a new club.

At Madam Rosita’s she knew most of the faces, and the girls there were her friends and sometimes patients. Here she was a stranger, a new face for the regulars just as much they were new to her. It took a few days to find her rhythm. After that night Beni had vanished again, no doubt to fleece the poor bastards who hired him. She didn’t care so long as he was gone.

She sang her set and moved through the tables, accepting compliments and dodging hands. The bartender would have a drink ready and waiting for her at the bar. She’d sit and smile and field questions from nosy patrons. Then she would move back to the stage and sing some more. By the end of the night her throat would be sore and as she moved through the room she could do nothing more than smile gratefully.  

After the night was over she’d return home, cross her fingers that the room would be empty, and fall exhausted into bed.

She had every other day off which was a relief. On those days she slept late and visited the markets. Sometimes she would make it down to Madam Rosita’s and see her friends, and if she took her bag of medicines and herbs then that was no one’s business but hers.

By the time her second week rolled around she had gotten used to the new lounge. She started the recognise the regulars there, the ones she could talk to and the ones with roaming hands. The girls who worked the floor had also started to come to her when they needed some help. She had no plans to tell Beni about it either.

She was surprised to find that she recognised at least one of her audience. He was a regular at Madam Rosita’s, one of the good ones, Jon…Jack…something like that. He stuck to character though, still polite and kept his hands firmly to himself.

Or to one of the girls on his lap.

She hadn’t realised he could afford this lounge though. Hell, Emily wasn’t sure how Beni had gotten her an in. It was definitely a place that charged more than Rosita’s, and though the girls weren’t officially employed at the lounge they were still taken care of by the owner and bartender. When Jon/Jack did come in he was usually celebrating something, though she linger long enough to find out what.

This familiarity is what let her notice when the customers acted…oddly. The lights surrounding the stage meant that when she sang she couldn’t see their faces, but as she moved towards the bar it was a different story. It was always the same man, he sat at a table tucked away on his own and tracked her every move. His eyes burned her every time she shook off a stray hand, and he was always gone by the time she started her second set. She tried to approach him just the once, gave him a warm smile and headed in his direction, only to be waylaid at another table. By the time she’d managed to move on the stranger had vanished, only to reappear a few days later.

Emily avoided looking at him after that.

She could still feel him watching her.

Jon/Jack was her favourite customer, she decided one night. He was drinking at the bar, talking noisily to anyone who would listen about a new life changing expedition. Hordes of treasure beneath the sand, he said. Emily scoffed inwardly, aware of the dream Beni had been selling for years now. But still, the energy the man exuded was catching, and Emily found herself smiling more often than not.

“The only downside is that American scoundrel we have to take with us,” he was telling her. “When we met, he punched me and then _kissed my sister_!”

“No!” Emily gasped.

“Yes! I’m telling you, that O’Connell better be-“

“O’Connell?” Emily interrupted. “Are you sure?”

“What? Yes, of course. Why, do you know him?”

“I..I might do,” she said quietly. Soft piano music filled the bar in between her set, filling the silence between them.

“I want to meet him,” she demanded.

Jon (she finally knew his name) choked on his drink,

“What on earth would you want to do that for? Weren’t you listening?”

“He might be my brother,” she said in a rush. “But I don’t know, I was told he was dead but really how many American O’Connells can there _be_ in Egypt?”

Jon gaped at her like a goldfish before throwing money down on the bar and putting on his jacket with more force than necessary.

“Then, my dear Emily, let us find out,”

He offered her his arm and she left without looking back.

She would never return in time for her second set, and she’d probably be fired which meant Beni would hit her but she didn’t care.

She had to know.

She could hear Madam Rosita’s voice in her head, urging caution. Don’t get your hopes up, she would say, don’t hurt yourself like this. Rick is _dead_.

She barely saw the route they took as Jon led her to a hotel, her thoughts were in such turmoil. For a man who could talk the hind legs off a donkey he was surprisingly quiet as they walked, recognising her need for silence.

He stopped in front of a wooden door and gestured for her to knock. She smiled weakly at him, raising a fist but-

She froze.

Her hand shook just above the grain, she could barely contain the excitement and dread.

“Deep breath,” Jon said next to her. She breathed with him.

“And knock.”

Her fist fell, and the door opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so, turns out I'm not dead?
> 
> And neither is this story apparently.
> 
> I'm trying to get the other chapters written, but well. I don't exactly have a great track record with that. 
> 
> I hope you like what you've read so far though!

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note about the page break hieroglyphs. 
> 
>  
> 
> It's transliterated into ˁḥˁ.n (pronounced a-ha n) which means "And then"
> 
> It's a really bad joke, I'm sorry. 
> 
> I studied Ancient Egyptian so I want to try and include some of the language in the story (because hells yeah ancient languages). 
> 
> Let me know what you think of the beginning!
> 
> Much hugs,
> 
> LizzieHopscotch


End file.
